


Middle Sunday in Wimbledon Village

by Margaery



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Birthday Sex, Crush, F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 04:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1885902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Margaery/pseuds/Margaery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donna's had a crush on Stan for <i>ages</i>. She thinks it's time to finally make her move.</p><p>ETA: Please see notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Middle Sunday in Wimbledon Village

**Author's Note:**

> **Original notes:** [Kink meme prompt](http://tenniskinkmeme.livejournal.com/639.html?thread=24447#t24447): I don't actually ship Stan & Donna (I think she's an "annoying little sister" type), but their recent interactions have made me want porn. Particularly if Donna's the one with the big crush & Stan goes along to humor her.
> 
>  **New notes:** OKAY SO THIS GOT WEIRD. 
> 
> I originally published this in July 2014, at which point I sincerely believed that they were just friends. Which... turned out not to be true. I'm not going to delete this (because I don't really believe in deleting things), but it's super weird now that we know they're actually together and probably were at the time I posted this.
> 
> Also July-2014!me totally spaced the fact that in Donna's native Croatia the age of consent is 16, so this whole "I'm finally 18" thing doesn't really make sense. WHOOPS.

It’s Middle Sunday – a quiet, idyllic day uninterrupted by such mundane realities as tennis matches – when Donna decides to make her move.

Stan’s barbecuing in the garden of the house he’s rented with his team, but the team is out at a weekend matinee in the West End, so they have the house to themselves. She’ll never have a better moment. And Stan looks good enough to eat, in his comfortable jeans and well-worn t-shirt. Donna bets his shirt is buttery soft, just like the rest of him. She knows she wants to find out.

The thing is, though, that she’s been flirting for a while, and he’s been stubbornly refusing to notice. Or, well, she thinks maybe he’s _noticed_ , but he’s been playing oblivious. Maybe he thinks she’s too young. But she’s 18 now – 18 as of yesterday – and that’s plenty old enough. And it’s not like he’s 50, or ugly.

“So,” she says, leaning back in her chair and crossing one long leg over another, “what are you giving me for my birthday?”

Stan raises an amused eyebrow at her, finishing cleaning the grill and turning it off. “I gave you a DVD set and theatre tickets yesterday.”

“Yessss,” she says, drawing it out. “And they were very nice.”

“Did you want something else?” he asks, dropping into his chair. “You’ll have to tell me. I’m hopeless at shopping.”

Donna smiles. Perfect opening. “I was thinking,” she says, getting up and pulling her top over her head with one fluid gesture, “that we could both get a present.”

Stan stares at her, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. It’s a sign of how far her crush has gone – how much she wants those capable hands on her body, how much she wants to feel those lips on her skin – that she finds his bewilderment sexy rather than awkward.

“I’m 18 now,” she says, taking the few steps across to him, swinging a leg over his lap and lowering herself down. His shirt is as buttery-soft as she suspected. “Touch me, I won’t break.”

Stan swallows, his eyes fixed on her boobs. (She feels a surge of affection. Men.) “You’re still a kid.”

Donna grinds down, once, to make her point. “I’m really not.”

He looks at her. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve wanted your mouth on my cunt for a year,” she says, filthy and clear.

He breathes in, a little shakily, and his eyes darken. Then he grins, and the next thing Donna knows, he’s stood up with her in his arms, easy and strong.

“That is such a turn-on,” she informs him, crossing her heels behind his back and curling her fingers around his biceps.

He carries her inside.

~

Donna knows her body is great, but it’s still an ego boost to watch the way Stan looks at her when she’s lying in his bed naked. He looks at her like he can’t quite believe she’s there, and she sticks a foot in his chest to snap him out of it. “Strip. I want to see you too.”

He laughs, and that’s the Stan she knows. Stan’s always laughing – sometimes ruefully, often at himself, but always with the free sunny attitude of someone with a bright attitude towards life. She’s a bit more emo herself, but Stan, though he has his moments, isn’t as intense and melodramatic as many of the boys she knows. He takes things one day at a time, one match at a time, does his best and lets it go. She wonders if that’s why she likes him so much – not just because of his hot body, though it’s great, but because she knew that he’d be like this in bed, full of joy and laughter.

But fuck, he _does_ have a hot body.

She props herself up on an elbow so she can trace a hand down his marvelous abs. “It’s a crime to hide these under your shirts.”

“Yeah?” he asks, blushing.

She grins at him. “Yeah,” she says, and leans in to nip at his skin.

He growls, a sound that goes straight to her head, and then his big hand is on her breast, and she moans. This is a man who knows what he’s doing; his thumb drags across her nipple, slow and sure, and she’s already thrumming with arousal, longing for more. She opens her mouth on his skin, licks the tang of clean sweat from the well-defined muscle.

“What do you want?” he asks, not quite steadily, and she grins against his body, happy to have done that already. 

She tips her head back to look up at him, threads a hand into his hair, tight enough to sting a little. “Everything,” she says, and draws him down into a kiss.

~

“There,” Donna says – well, it comes out more “therrrrrrrre,” but that’s what happens when you have the Australian Open champion between your legs. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.”

“You’re demanding,” Stan says, resting his forehead against the inside of her hip, grinning. His mouth is wet.

It’s not that Donna hasn’t had guys before. She’s popular. Eventually she thinks she’ll probably end up dating Nick – he’s hot, he already has a massive crush on her, and he’s got that youthful cockiness thing about him that’s pretty appealing (plus, his mother’s trained him right, so the cockiness is only pseudo-bad-boy, not _actual_ bad boy). But he needs to grow up a bit first, and concentrate on his tennis, and so does she. Maybe in a year or two.

Meanwhile, she fully intends to enjoy herself, without tying herself down to a monogamous relationship just yet. And if that includes flings with hot Grand Slam champions, then she’s a very lucky woman.

“And you stopped,” she says, trying for an indignant tone, but sounding too breathless.

Stan laughs, and then dips his head back to where it was. She throws her head back on the pillows, hand tightening involuntarily on his hair.

He knows what he’s doing. His tongue is as skilled as his backhand, and his fingers, oh god. She rides his fingers, rides his _face_ , and he lets her, no, urges her on. She usually has more luck coming with a vibrator then with other people, but not here, not now, not with him all around her and his touch driving her mad.

“Oh, fuuuuuuck,” she moans, and tips over the brink.

~

“Happy birthday,” Stan says, grinning at her, then leaning down to kiss her.

Donna can taste herself on him, and his beard is sticky, which should be disgusting, but somehow isn’t. She’s going to have beard burn on her thighs. She can’t bring herself to care. So totally worth it.

“Oh, honey,” she says, taking a breath of fortifying air and then flipping them, using her weight to bear down and pin him to the bed, “I’m not done with you yet.”

~

Stan looks amazing, spread out under her. He should never cover up, he should just live naked, because clothes sometimes make him look blocky and solid, and yet he’s amazingly built underneath. She runs her fingers over his skin, watching him shiver to her touch, and pinches a nipple, just to make him squirm.

“Come on,” he says, impatient echo of the mantra she hears so often during his matches. “Come on.”

“I’ll move when I’m good and ready, Stanislas,” she says, rolling her hips, savouring the stretch of his cock inside her. He isn’t the biggest she’s had, but he’s thick and just right, dragging across her g-spot in a maddening but delicious way.

“You’re just going to – unh – play with my nipples all day?”

She sucks one into her mouth, loving the way his hands clench in the bedclothes, then takes pity on him and starts to move.

There’s something so primal about fucking. Donna loves the feeling of his hands on her hips, urging her on – the way her body lights up with his touch and his cock and the lingering shivers from her first orgasm – the filthy sounds their bodies make as they come together. But she also loves the less-primal things: the surge of affection in her chest as Stan’s head thrashes on the pillow, the thrill of accomplishment as she hears him suck in half-breaths, half-sobs, the sheer sexiness of the sweat on his skin and the curves of his muscles.

She leans down to whisper in his ear, pitching her voice low to drag a little moan out of him. “Your turn to drive.”

Athletes are so much fun to fuck. Stamina. It’s a good thing. So are those tireless thighs and butt muscles, and the competitive drive that leads to titles on the court is an excellent asset in bed.

“C’mon, Stanley, you can give it to me harder than that,” she says some minutes later, and grins, pulling him down into a kiss as he growls, laughing, into her mouth.

Best birthday present ever. 

~

Stan falls asleep afterwards.

Donna watches him for a couple of minutes – it’s kinda hot how quickly he fell asleep, as if she’d ridden him hard and put him away wet, and his face looks adorable all squished up against the pillow. He’s gently snoring, though, and there’s only so long you can put up with that, even if the rest of him is naked and good to look at (she resists the urge to pinch his butt).

She doesn’t know if they’ll do it again. She’d love to have a fuckbuddy as good as that, particularly one that makes her laugh like he does. It’ll depend on him, though – she’s pretty sure he’s already fuckbuddies with Benoit, and getting into a spat with Benoit over it isn’t something she’s keen on. Though a threesome might be fun… she’d opt for Magnus over Benoit if she had a choice, though. 

Anyway. Whether it happens again or not, that was fun. Perfect use of a lazy Middle Sunday. She should write to the Wimbledon committee: “Your refusal to make up delayed matches on Middle Sunday is stupid, and I’m pissed at you. However, it did mean I got to have a really good fuck. So you’re forgiven. Sincerely, Donna Vekic.”

She smiles at the thought, and snuggles down next to Stan, letting her eyes close.

~


End file.
